Chapter 8 - THE SINS OF THE FATHEROne month after the takeover at the Drake Hotel.
The Gallagher estate had been cleansed. Tommy was serving a forty-year sentence in a maximum-security federal facility after Declan handed over twenty years of Tommy’s private financial crimes to the FBI. The corrupt captains were purged, and the syndicate’s operations were completely legitimized into legal logistics and real estate.
It was a soft, rainy Tuesday morning in Chicago.
Inside the grand master suite on the top floor of Gallagher House, Abby lay across the massive king-sized bed, wrapped in a soft white silk robe.
The room, which used to be cold, dark, and masculine, was now filled with fresh flowers, warm sunlight, and soft art.
Declan stepped out of the walk-in closet, wearing a black linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing his thick, scarred forearms. He held two cups of steaming fresh coffee in his hands.
He walked over to the bed, setting the cups on the nightstand, and slid into the sheets beside her, wrapping his massive arms around her soft waist, pulling her back against his chest.
"You're awake," he murmured into her hair, his lips kissing her neck.
"I was thinking," Abby said softly, leaning back into his warmth.
"Dangerous habit," Declan smirked, his thumb tracing the soft curve of her hip. "What are you thinking about, sweet girl?"
"Seven years ago," she whispered. "The day I was hired. You were sitting in the study, looking like you wanted to jump out the window. Why didn't you fire me back then, Declan? I dropped a tray of crystal glasses on my first day."
Declan let out a soft laugh, his eyes turning warm. "I remember that tray. Sixty thousand dollars of French crystal shattered across my rug."
"And you just looked at me and said, 'Clean it up,'" she recalled.
"Do you know why I didn't fire you?" Declan asked, turning her around in his arms so he could look into her dark eyes.
"Why?"
"Because when you dropped that tray, you didn't cry. You didn't beg for your job like the other servants," Declan murmured softly. "You looked me dead in the eye, picked up the broken glass with your bare hands, and said, 'I'll work off the cost from my paycheck.' You had more balls than my entire board of directors."
He cupped her face, his thumb gently caressing her cheekbone. "I knew right then that you were special. It just took me seven years to realize I couldn't live without you."
Before Abby could respond, a soft knock came at the bedroom door.
Marco stepped inside, looking hesitant, holding a thick leather folder.
"Boss," Marco said quietly. "Sorry to bother you. The final audit of your father's old private safe in Zurich just came through."
Declan’s eyebrows furrowed. "My father's safe? That was locked twenty years ago."
"We opened it, Don Declan," Marco said, his face pale. "And... there's something inside you need to see. Something about Abby’s family."
May you like
Abby sat up, her heart suddenly racing. "My family? My father was a mechanic on the South Side. He died ten years ago."
Marco set the leather folder on the bed. "Your father wasn't just a mechanic, Mrs. Gallagher. Read the file."
